


Firelight

by LostSummer



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, My First Fanfic, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSummer/pseuds/LostSummer
Summary: Harry's first conversation with Ginny after the war. Sad and sweet and sleep deprived. This is my first fic and English isn't my first language so sorry in advance!
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Firelight

He split ways with Ron and Hermione at the grand staircase. They held hands when they climbed back down to join the other Weasleys in the Great Hall. Something like a smile was tugging at Harry’s lips, but he was too exhausted to fully form it. He put the invisibility cloak back on. Let his feet carry him through sun flooded hallways with blown out windows. Broken glass shimmering on the stone ground. Through corridors with big holes in them. The frames of destroyed paintings broken on the ground. Painted wizards congregating in those that were still clinging to the walls. Some of them had obvious holes in them, or half their faces missing. But they were celebrating. A large landscape, that had once featured a vineyard in the background, had attracted an especially large group of painted visitors. Big parts of the painted building had been destroyed, when something had sliced the canvas open. However, plenty of wine barrels seemed to have survived. In passing Harry thought he saw Sir. Cadogan sitting backwards on his fat pony, singing and swinging a big glass filled with red wine through the air.

When Harry pulled the hood of the cloak down to reveal himself to the Fat Lady, she screamed in surprised, them in joy, then started to cry. “I don’t know the password,” he remembered. “Oh, dear boy… my dear, dear boy. Don’t you worry.”, she said and swung open. He thanked her and climbed through the portrait hole. Stepping into the common room felt like travelling back in time. The room was deserted and still looked the same. All the hours spend here, laughing and studying, eating Zonko’s sweets and making plans and falling asleep on the couches and celebrating quidditch wins and feeling safe. They all seemed to ring in his ears like a long-forgotten song. He was relieved to be alone. He climbed up the stairs. Fell onto his old bed. Darkness. Sleep.

Nightmares.

He had been naïve, to think they wouldn’t haunt him. Would give him this day of rest. For a long time, exhaustion pulled him under so deep that he didn’t dream anything, but when he awoke it was because images of Fred’s laugh, then blood, Bellatrix’s laugh, McGonagall’s screams… had slithered their way back in. He awoke shaking, drenched in sweat. Still in a sort of trance he dragged himself into the shower. Only realized he had been in there for longer than normal, when even the magically heated water turned cold.

  
Then, standing in the steamed-up bathroom with wet hair that was already beginning to stick out into all directions again, he realized he had nothing to wear. He did not live here anymore. All he had were the blood and dirt and dust and dead soaked clothes in which he had come. After rummaging around the dorm for a bit he found some old clothes in Neville’s wardrobe. The jeans fit fine. The T-shirt hung loosely around his shoulders. He was still so tired. And scared to close his eyes. He should eat something. When he first made his way down the stairs into the common room it looked to still be empty. During the time he slept someone had reignited the fire and the room was cozy and warm. How long had he slept? He had no idea. There was only pitch-black darkness outside the windows.

He was halfway through the room, when he saw her in one of the plushy red armchairs by the fire. She had curled up in that cat-like pose he had seen so many times before. Late at night at the burrow when she was tired but did not want to go to bed out of fear of missing out… On one of the kitchen chairs at Grimmauld Place when they were all worrying for Arthur’s life… In the corners of the library, when she was supposed to study but dozed off after pushing herself too hard at quidditch practice. The firelight reflected in her red hair made it look like it was made of flames.

Ginny was sound asleep and Harry couldn’t stop staring. For the longest time he had told himself he wouldn’t see her again, so he would not get his hopes up. So, he wouldn’t have to lose her again and again and again. But there she was. And she looked so familiar and safe and beautiful and like home. And she opened her eyes and looked back at him.

“Good morning, I guess.” Her voice sounded worn down from sleep or from screaming curses at Bellatrix Lestrange, only a few hours ago. Or from crying… A dry sound that would have been a small laugh at any other time escaped his throat.

“I think it’s pretty much the middle of the night.”

“Nah.”, she sat up and stretched her arms above her head. “It was about midnight when I came up here, so the sun should be back up soon.” He walked over to her and sat down on the ground next to the chair. She slid down to the ground next to him.

“I would ask you if you are okay, but I am not an idiot.”, she said matter-of-factly.

That weird sound from his throat again. “Fred…”, his voice broke. He hadn’t even known that name would come out of his mouth. “Ginny. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t you dare.” He had heard that tone in her voice before. Fierce. Strong. Not allowing contradiction. “Don’t you dare Harry. Fred knew what he was doing. So did Remus and Tonks so did we all. I will not allow you to pretend they died because of you. They died because they fought for something, they believed in. Do not take that away from them. Don’t.”

One of the logs in the fire cracked and broke in the middle. A cascade of sparks danced upwards and away.

He led out a deep breath. “That seemed rehearsed.” She laughed. It sounded hollower that usual but miraculously - she laughed. “I know you Potter. You can’t help but pretend that everything is your fault.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“Oh, shut up!” Then quieter: “I know you Harry. I know you won’t be able to not blame yourself for a while, but I really hope that at some point you can stop and see… See that none of us would be alive if it was not for you. I know you think you are responsible for people dying but please consider that you are even more responsible for those who survived.”

He had avoided looking at her until then. Had focused on the dancing flames. On the burn of tears in his eyes. On the mission to not have them spill over. But now he couldn’t help it. When he was looking at her, she was already looking back at him. Strong, warm, chocolate brown eyes. He had missed her like a limb. “When did you get to bloody wise?”

She grinned. “I have always been. You have just been to wrapped up in your own crap to notice.”

“That’s fair.” He had to look away again. She was brighter than the flames. For a while they just sat next to each other. Shoulders almost touching but nor really. Staring into the fire.

“I really missed you.” He had thought it from the first moment he had seen her, back in the Room of Requirements. He was glad he had found some courage left in him to say it.

A small warm hand wrapped surprisingly strong fingers around his.

“Harry…life’s going to suck for a while but…”

He looked at her. “Ginny…” his voice came out so quiet. He wasn’t sure if she would be able to hear him. “Would you take me back if I asked you? Is there any chance...”

She sighed. Led her head fall back against the foot of the armchair behind them. “You know me. I’m stubborn. I don’t think I ever really let you go.”

He scooped her up in his arms with a swiftness that surprised them both. And then, once he was holding her, he found he wasn’t able to let her go. So, he just buried his face in her hair, concentrated on the strong press of her arms around his neck, his lower back. He had almost lost her. He hadn’t. They were alive. They got to life.

  
When he finally let her go enough to look into her face, she looked serious. “I need you to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Never, never pretend to be dead again.” He could tell she had meant to let it sound more casual but her voice cracked in the end. He jawline was set now, like she was grinding her teeth together.

He set out for another apology. Stopped himself. Said instead: “Wouldn’t want to risk it anyways. Broke that cover immediately when you were in danger so… Not really an effective method for someone who is in love with you I guess.”

When Ginny kissed Harry for the first time after the war, they smelled like smoke from sitting to close to the fire. And he thought he tasted salt on her lips. And they were still broken by grief and wouldn’t be able to sleep without nightmares for months, maybe years. And they would spend a lot of the near future crying. And hugging. And trying to keep George from losing his mind. But strong feelings often come in plenty. And so, they were also happy to be alive. And very much in love.


End file.
